


Alpha Ballet

by sometimes_i_english



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ballet dancers!AU, Gen, I don't really know anything about ballet, I'm a walking cliche, M/M, a lot of clichés, alternative universe-humans, mentions of bottom!derek, they're probably OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimes_i_english/pseuds/sometimes_i_english
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura calls him to her office between his classes and rehearsals.</p><p>“You called me?” he asks, an easy smile on his lips as he enters.</p><p>“Sit down Stiles” she says, her voice feels as cool as Erica’s had on Saturday night, his eyes go frantic around her face; yet he finds nothing, her expression stoic and her eyes unforgiving with betrayal.</p><p>“Sooo” he says, because of course Stiles would get uncomfortable with silence first</p><p>“A bet Stiles?” she hisses “really?!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha Ballet

**Author's Note:**

> So, hi! this is y very first Sterek, so they're probably OOC, a lot. Er-sorry about that. Anywho! I don't really know about ballet, but I did some research before writing this, and I hope the inaccuracies you'll probably find don't offend anyone.
> 
> It hasn't beta-ed cuz I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are mine and I encourage you to point them out!
> 
> Stiles is 19 and Derek is 25 in this one.

Music drifts from the open door as Stiles walks the hard wood floor of the hallway, who is it? Hm, who knows really, he’s never been good at recognizing pieces or their authors; but who’s dancing, Stiles can know who’d dance to that music even if he was on the other side of the school and could only feel the vibrations of the baritones over the floor boards.

Derek’s body is a miracle.

At least to Stiles it is; since the first time he saw Derek dance, the way his movements would be precise and elegant yet fluid and expressive. Derek is the perfect embodiment of Russian ballet and classical training. Maybe Derek’s presence had something to do with Stiles joining the small-ish Alpha Ballet back in his native Beacon Hills instead of pursuing a more proficient career in Europe.

Maybe, just maybe. Because being close to his father and where his mother laid had also being great incentives.

He finally reaches the door, standing there supporting his body on the doorframe and crossing his arms in front of his chest, and there’s Derek. Beautiful Derek in his stupidly tight black leotard and tights, complete with the soft shoes; moving around like dancing was his second nature, rippling through air with his hands and jumping to just float in the middle before falling soundlessly back. Stiles loves watching him.

There is intent behind every move and calculation under every pose, and still, there isn’t a moment when Derek would look as free as when dancing.

On every other moment, at least when Stiles is around, Derek would just be serious; Stiles is half convinced the guy hates him.

“He doesn’t hate you” Laura says “he’s just…weird” she shrugs. Stiles likes Laura, but then again, Stiles likes pretty much everyone. Even that asshole of Jackson Whittemore, he’s really not that bad, and Danny (the sound and tech guy whom everybody loves) is best friends with him, so there really has to be something good about him.

The music stops with Derek landing a 360° tours en l’air, both feet planted firmly on the floor and his back straight as a bow; Stiles has the urge to clap but remembers how badly the last time he actually did that ended, so he just quietly leaves.

Stiles is man enough to admit he has a bit of a crush on Derek, ok, maybe way more than just ‘a bit’; and maybe since way before he joined the company a couple of months ago as a corps de ballet. 

The first time Stiles saw Derek dance wasn’t in Beacon Hills’ small-ish ballet company; no, it had been when Stiles was six and Derek twelve and the Hale family was still around running the Alpha Ballet as a family thing. The Hales were a family of dancers, they ran a dance school where they trained their dancers, and somehow were always interested in finding new talents; so they did a presentation in Stile’s school’s auditorium.

It was far too short and complicated for the mind of a six year old to comprehend, and Derek had been a corps de ballet himself then, dancing in the background and without a lighting spot on him. Yet the dark haired boy had captured Stiles’ attention, ha, someone had managed to capture and enrapture a six year old with ADHD. Stiles though his dad would want to give Derek a medal.

That day he went home buzzing with excitement and wonder, talking fast about this boy and how when he danced even light seemed to make room for his movements to shine. The same afternoon, his mother took him and got him signed up for ballet lessons (that later turned into practice)

It had been a real surprise when the extra activity actually helped with his ADHD and apparently inexhaustible amounts of energy. His mom played the piano and wrote a piece for him, they built a choreography together.

Even when Stiles didn’t get to see Derek again beyond some glimpses of him when he was practicing, he enjoyed dancing, the feeling of bending his body and moving it to his will while accompanying the music someone had written; it was exhilarating. As time went by, he became more and more interested in ballet, not only in dancing it but also in knowing about it; so he read and read, and practiced and practiced.

Until one day, four years later, when he arrived home and his mom didn’t take him to the ballet practice. The Hale Theater, along with the school, had been victim of a fire.

His parents talked about it and he got sent to LA, a scholarship to maintain under his belt and his passion for dancing as his driving force. He didn’t see Derek again until his nineteenth birthday, when he got a letter from Alpha Ballet to join their company.

He accepted.

“Hey man, what you thinking about?” Stiles smiles as Scott’s voice wafts through the phone

“Mmm, nothing really, I’m exhausted” he whines

Scott laughs because he knows Stiles says the same thing every time they talk, which is pretty much every day anyways, “Yeah, yeah, man; you’re exhausted. But what about me? I’ve been busting my ass all day too”

“Aww, sorry man” Stiles counteracts in a mock repentant tone “how’s work at the vet clinic?”

“Good, good; animals still love me and Deaton will probably give me a raise if I stop complaining every time I clean the cages”

Stiles laughs at his best friend, somewhere he’s grateful at the fact that even when his dancing didn’t really give him time for anything, Scott remained by his side; a brotherly constant of the place he came from and where he found his love for what he does.

“By the way dude, I’ll probably go see you tomorrow. I think Allison is finally starting to warm up to me”

“Ugh, seriously Scott? Whatever man, just remember, bros before hoes man. Bros.Before.Hoes” he enunciates making Scott laugh.

Scott has had an awful crush on their female soloist probably since the time he set eyes on her. And with reason, Allison Argent is merely a year older than Stiles, yet she already holds a strong career under her years and gets to accompany Derek when the ballets they put on have a couple as the narrative carriers.

Sometimes Stiles wonders why she too doesn’t leave Beacon Hills for a better career and a bit more fame; but he never really asks her, no matter how friendly she is with him, they’re still not on that base of friendship. The most personal thing he knows about her is that she took the soloist role after her aunt, some Kate Argent, vacated it for unknown reasons.

Unknown to him, that is. Unknown not for choice but because it seems virtually impossible to find anything about her, even Danny (who actually is friends with Stiles) refused to help him and hack something; and he really doesn’t have the time to go and snoop around the station when his dad isn’t around.

“Come on Stiles, wake up!” Laura yells from somewhere above, ugh, Stiles hates his morning practice; not the practice exactly, he’d dance every waking moment he has if he could, but the hour, the fucking ungodly hour that six thirty in the morning is.

He makes some sort of garbled sound and Laura sighs that exasperatedly fond sigh she has for him. But still makes him get up from his perfectly comfortable place on the floor and stand in front of the wall mirror.

Laura is their choreographer, and she’s ruthless when it’s down to her work and making it perfect. Stiles knows not to mess with her. So he drinks his over-sized coffee and practices until his calves burn and there’s a huge smile on his face.

Winter season is approaching and, along with the usual nutcracker, Laura and Peter put together some sort of contemporary play about werewolves and magic and wonder stuff like that. 

The story revolves around Derek, the ‘Alpha’ and his ‘pack’; about the easy living they lead at the beginning, having jobs and attending school and hiding during the new moon; until one of them (Jackson) manages to be found and get killed. Derek tries to seek whoever did it, only to return bloody and in the brink of dead; he heals and takes his pack away.

Whoever is hunting them is not revealed until the climax of the ballet, a battle; the public will know there is someone behind the pack, but they won’t get to see her face until the battle. That’s when the hunter (Allison) will leave the shadows, crossbow in hand, and shoot as many corps the ballet as she can. To the final moment, when the music will grow quiet and nothing but a silver of a piece will be heard, to when she and Derek will ‘fight’ a one on one until one of them drops dead.

The twist is that every night has a different ending.

Sometimes Derek will be victorious and leave, sometimes Allison will kill him and gloat; and sometimes Derek might be able to kill Allison only to die of exertion himself, while other times Allison will be bitten and kill herself out of spite. Every night has a different ending.

After his own practice Stiles sits on the edge, back against the wall, and observes Derek and Allison do their routine. It’s amazing the way they move with each other, the easiness in their body’s relationship, as if they have an earned trust in each other. Stiles is envious of that, he wants to dance with Derek sometime.

But he can’t.

Because Derek doesn’t like him, because they’re not friends. Because despite his own nonchalance he gets nervous around the man.

“Hey man!” Scott smiles, he’s standing outside when he finally leaves the studio. Isaac is with him.

“Hey dude” Stiles smiles “Isaac” he likes Isaac; he’s also a corps de ballet but has been exempted from any practice due a small knee injury he hasn’t entirely recovered from. He’s also Derek’s younger brother. Sort of, he’s Derek’s ‘protégé’? No, Isaac is more than that to Derek, Stiles can see it. They have the easy banter and taunting of brothers and Derek trains Isaac on one-on-one sessions most times or when he doesn’t have to teach a class.

“Hello Stiles” there’s that smirk, somewhere along the way, Stiles noticed that Isaac would almost always smirk towards him whenever he said hi. And yeah, no real surprise there because apparently everyone and their mother knew about Stiles’ crush on the guy’s brother.

“Ok, stop it with that smirk” he snapped playfully

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Isaac answered easily

They walked like that to an empty studio, the same studio he’d seen Derek dancing in some days ago, talking and joking and making plans for pizza and videogames on Friday. Jackson and Danny showing up some time later.

“Where’s Lydia?” Stiles asks Jackson, the two of them have been dating since Stiles has memory so one usually means the other.

“She’s too busy with Erica coordinating everything for the Winter Season” he shrugs

“Aah, yeah, man. Sometimes I forget they manage the whole administrative staff under them”

Erica is one of Derek’s closest friends, she’s terrifying and beautiful; a perfect match for Lydia. Whoever had the idea of making them work together was either a genius or a perfect moron. Their work proved that whoever to be a genius.

There’s a knock on the doorframe and Allison enters the studio, a little sweaty and with a small flush but with her trademarked dimpled smile in place. 

“Hey Allison!” Scott perks up instantly and Stiles would roll his eyes if he hadn’t seen how Allison’s smile grows if by the tiniest bit. Huh, maybe Scott isn’t the only one with a crush.

“Lunch hour is almost up, aren’t you guys going to eat something?” she asks, they all turn to Danny, the only one who carries a watch or a phone with him at all times.

“Yeah, she’s right guys; you should head out and grab something before rehearsals start. How long until the actual opening night?”

“Two months Danny, pay attention” Stiles says snapping his fingers, everyone around laughs. He understands that, he knows being the goofball and making jokes and people laughing at them and his flailing limbs.

When he’s not dancing, which isn’t really that much time, Stiles goes home and spends time with his dad; or goes to the cemetery and spends time with his mom. And every other night he goes to the public swimming pool and does a couple of laps before just floating aimlessly around the center.

One night he finds Derek there, it’s a Wednesday, and he just stands there for a while; being the creeper he’s not exactly ashamed to know he is, just staring, looking at the muscles of his arms and the strength of his thighs break through the water and ripple it, gaining impulse and momentum. Not quite as graceful as when he dances but equally powerful.

Sometimes Stiles thinks that’s everything Derek is, all intense power and control, and then he finds the man laughing openly with Erica and staring fondly at Laura or Isaac. And then that little control he has over that not so small crush just flies away and he knows he’s fucked because he’s head over heels for the man.

Stiles approaches the pool and sits on the edge, dangling his feet in the cold water as gooseboomps erupt on his skin. Pearled little whites over his already pale flesh. Derek’s head snaps out of the water; they’re on opposite sides of the pool and stare at each other for a moment. Then Derek just resumes swimming and Stiles joins.

They swim for at least an hour before Stiles feels already content with just being in the water, but with Derek there, he can’t exactly just lay on his back and set to float around without real control over crashing or not crashing with the other body. Stiles wonders briefly if swimming so much won’t give Derek muscles in places he’ll find uncomfortable later.

But Derek stops with him. And those stupid eyes that only God would know the color of stare back at him. Maybe a question in the set of his eyebrows.

“I’m tired” he says

Derek only nods and goes to get out of the pool.

“I didn’t know you swam” Stiles says, because God, he can’t keep quiet and he wants to talk with Derek. He wants to know Derek from Derek without just knowing about him.

“I swim ever Wednesday night” Derek says, they’re already in the changing rooms and Stiles gets momentarily distracted by a dripping Derek “I only swim once a week, swimming too much might grow muscles and make it uncomfortable to dance” he elaborates.

And because it has been previously stated how Stiles is a creeper and it can be added how little shame and preservation skills he owns, he shows up every Wednesday night at the swimming pool after that.

And he talks, and talks and talks. Because somehow he realized that he also wants Derek to know him. He talks about everything, about how he started ballet (omitting how it was because of Derek) and his life in LA and how much he enjoys being in the company. He talks about everything but his mom and how he couldn’t be there to say bye because he was too busy with a presentation in LA and his dad wouldn’t bother him (because his mom wouldn’t let him) and how he still holds a bit of a grudge over that even when he can’t really blame either of them.

Derek never says anything away from a nod or a noncommittal sound here and there, just showing that he’s listening. Sometimes Stile could swear he sees the man smile lightly at the teenager that keeps so willingly sharing his life.

Their relationship keeps the same when in the company; they never address their ‘Wednesday escapades’ as Stiles has taken to call them. But Stiles can feel how Derek has started to gravitate towards him when they’re in the same room, how his eyes are sharper on him when he’s dancing.

“You need to better your turnouts” he says one day

“What?” Stiles asks dumbly

“Your turnouts Stiles” Derek insists “your knees are wrong”

Stiles is a bit dumbfounded at him noticing his dancing techniques to answer immediately, or feel embarrassed or even angry at someone-Derek- criticizing his dancing “yeah” he finally breathes out “I was never too good with classical training”

“Hmm” Derek hums “I can help you with those, if you want”

He’s a bit brooding and kind of fierce with it, making it sound less like an offer and more like someone has forced him to do it; but there’s an adorable embarrassed blush at his cheeks. Stiles wants to shout and jump high and let all his energy flow out.

“Yes, I’d like that” he finally answers “Thanks”

The next day Derek calls him to an empty studio after practices are done. It’s late when they finish and Stiles thinks he hasn’t been sorer in his life. But he’s smiling.

Derek was relentless; he was hard and criticized every move that was inherently classical that he attempted to do. But Derek had been classically trained, of course he knew.

They yelled at each other because Stiles is a little shit that takes nobody’s crap, they snapped and bickered and Derek pushed him against a wall once. But Stiles loves it, there’s a certain adrenaline at finding someone that could answer him with the same energy he gives.

Derek’s hands would accommodate his body and Stiles would fight the shudder that it elicits. 

“You’re getting better” Derek says one day

“Thanks” Stiles pants back, because he’s tired and sweating. Derek barely has a thin sheet of sweat on him and a little part of Stiles gets jealous at the older dancer.

“Dude, you should just ask him out already” Scott tells him over the phone one day

“Seriously man? I don’t even know if the guy is into dudes” he answers back “Plus, have you even seen him? The man looks like a Greek god with all the muscles and shit” he moans 

“You’re disgusting” Scott deadpans

Stiles laughs “yeah, yeah. How’re things with Allison?” number one tactic in distracting Scott from anything: talk about Allison and their budding romance.

“Awesome” he sighs “she’s awesome” his voice has taken that dreamy quality it only takes when talking about the girl in question. The girl whose father is so filthy rich he’s the main contributor to the Alpha Ballet.

Ballet companies are seriously difficult to maintain, they usually loose in box office and still have salaries and stuff to pay. Stiles knows the (remaining) Hales have a shit ton of money from the insurance they collected when the fire happened and that they used part of it to reconstruct the theater, but that ballet lessons are also not exactly cheap and that Chris Argents also gives a serious amount of money every year.

In regards to money he can’t complain, he still lives with his dad (and even then they don’t get to see each other daily) so he doesn’t pay rent; the company pays him enough to not starve or need a second job and he doesn’t really have time to spend it in useless things beyond food and videogames. Most of it goes to his dance utilities.

He even accommodated the guest bedroom with mirrors and wooden floors to practice when he’s not in one of the company’s studios.

“Hey!” Scott is visiting again during lunch hour, he’s there almost every day since he and Allison became an official couple

“Hey man, what’s up?” Stiles greets, whatever the reason, he’s always happy to see his best friend; even when his importance level has been downgraded in favor of the girlfriend

“Mmm not much” Scott shrugs. The whole of them, except Isaac because he has some knee thing in the hospital, is using an empty studio as reunion center again. Even Lydia is there.

“What’s up with you I’d say” Danny pipes in

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he already knows, everyone has been bugging him about finally growing a pair and asking Derek out; but they don’t get it. Derek hasn’t shown the slightest interest in Stiles in that way and he likes the sort of friendship they have, he doesn’t really know if he wants to risk losing it.

“Seriously Stilinski?” Jackson asks “You wouldn’t make a move on the guy even if I dared you” he mocks.

And then Stiles is angry, they’ve known about his crush on Derek for a long time and he hasn’t told them how much deeper it has grown; but that’s no reason for them to play around with it. Besides, that’s unfair, everyone knows he can’t exactly say no to a dare with Jackson.

“Don’t” he hisses, eyes narrowed and jaws clenched. Suddenly the air in the room has become electrified and everyone just stares at them. Well, all except Lydia, who seems more interested in her Galaxy than whatever might be going on around her.

“Oh” Jackson smirks smugly “Hummm, let me think about it” he grins wider, but somehow manages to make it unpleasant “yeah, I dare you to make a move on Hale. Better yet, let’s make it a bet” he smiles triumphantly. Now Stiles has no way to back down.

“You’re disgusting” he says offhandedly 

“Probably” Jackson brushes it off “but I’m the disgusting person you’ll loose a bet to” 

“Ugh” Stiles needs new friends, better friends “fine, but if I win you’ll donate six months of your profits to the company” he hisses “but not a word about this, specially not to Isaac”

“Whatever” Jackson smirks “If you make a move and Derek answers positively, I’ll donate a year worth’s of profit”

“Good” Stiles snaps “I hope you haven’t any big purchases in your near future” with that he leaves the room, stomping his way into his Jeep. He has that afternoon free and is suddenly relieved for Derek being too busy to keep their one-on-one training sessions; at least for that day.

He drives aimlessly and eats a greasy burger along with a double order of curly fries. Because he can and because his metabolism is awesome and because he needs the comfort of doing something he enjoys but rarely gets to do. The he just goes home muttering about what an asshole Jackson is and how much he actually hates him.

“I take back everything remotely nice I’ve ever thought about him. Fucking asshole. I hate him. He’s an idiot. What does Lydia even see in him?” the extensive prerogative he’s got going lasts until he enters his room and there’s a faint knock on his door.

His dad is there. He was so frustrated he didn’t even notice him.

“Oh, hi dad” 

“Hello son” his dad says slowly, a small frown in his face “is everything ok?”

“Yeah, just Jackson being the annoying dick he was born to be” he shrugs, his dad’s presence suddenly dulling the sinking pit at the bottom of his stomach.

“Language Stiles, I’m your father” the Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose “Ok then, I’m leaving in a few hours, do you want to do something?”

“Um, actually I was going to practice a little bit and then just sleep” he says, an apologetic smile already on his face

His dad nods and turns to leave. “Hey dad!” Stiles calls back

“Yes?”

“You’ll come to the opening night right?”

“Er”

“Come on dad, I’ll reserve you a sit with Scott’s mom and then you can do your thing and you know. Ballet is a very sophisticated and interesting activity for a date” he ends with a wink and a slightly inappropriate wiggle of eyebrows. 

Dad only sighs, maybe having Stiles as a son has really caused him pain in life. “Sure Stiles, I’ll go”

“Yes” Stiles fist bumps the air

“Are you sure Melissa will go though?”

“I don’t know dad, you have to ask her. That’s the whole ‘dating’ point” he shakes his head as if his dad is a five year old who doesn’t understand why rain falls down and not up. Or maybe that was just Stiles as a five year old.

John merely sighs again, gives one last nod and leaves.

A shower seems like a great idea then. Stiles is still sweaty from the day and it’s starting to feel disgusting.

After it, he doesn’t bother with the usual black shirt and tights; instead he forgoes the shirt and practices in a small pair of shorts. He dances for hours, twirling and jumping and just feeling the pull of the music inside his body.

It’s odd, how he vibrates with it. He’s never really been much for classical or even neoclassical ballet; no, he loves contemporary. Mixing styles and forms to create an almost abstract picture of beauty and life.

Then he moves onto the turnouts, he can feel Derek’s hands moving him and placing his limbs in the right place. He mixes it with a bit of his own music and it feels more natural, like Derek’s directions and glares and sniped remarks make sense.

And there it is. A perfect turnout, staring at him from the mirror.

He smiles so wide he feels his face might split in two. He’s buzzing with excitement, thrumming with energy. He needs to tell Derek.

Yes.

He needs to tell Derek.

He scrambles for his phone and runs through his contacts, and there stares at him, the blatant blank space of not having Derek’s cell phone number. It really shouldn’t annoy him as much as it does.

Fine, he thinks, now you’re not knowing until tomorrow.

And that should be punishment enough for the man.

Except that it’s also punishment for him.

He can’t stay still.

So, of course, Stiles being Stiles; he runs to put clothes on and runs back to the Theater. There is no other place where he knows Derek might be, and that’s probably one of the saddest realizations he’s ever had; the fact that he really knows nothing of Derek, that though he has shared so much with him, Derek still won’t relent much about himself.

That’s a lie, he thinks.

Yeah, that’s a lie. Even when Derek won’t talk, Stiles has learnt to observe him, to interpret his actions and his expressions. He knows that Derek loves when they spar, he know that Derek being mean when criticizing him means he cares about him (at least in some point), he knows that besides him only Isaac gets one-on-one treatment with Derek. And somehow, even when he doesn’t know another place to find him or his phone number, Stiles feels smug about his connection with him.

“Hey cutie” says Erica, a slight surprise in her face as he enters the place “where are you going so fast?”

“Er, I’m looking for Derek” he answers, Erica terrifies him a little.

“Oooh” and Stiles really doesn’t want to think about that elongated ‘oh’ or the knowing smirk she gets on her face “Derek’s gone home, it’s a bit late”

“Oh” he supposes his disappointment must show on his face if Erica’s even bigger smirk is anything to go by “then I guess I’ll…just see him tomorrow”

“Or” she smiles deceptively sweet “I could give you his address”

“Er” Stiles mumbles “I’m not sure if he’d like that” he makes an aborted move to leave and Erica grabs his arm to stop him

“Oh, believe me Stiles, he wouldn’t mind at all” she winks

And that’s how Stiles find himself behind the wheel of his Jeep, driving to the industrialized area of Beacon Hills with Derek’s address and cell phone number on a post-it note.

Maybe he should’ve called before hand, but then he’d had to explain why and how he had his number.

Which was a completely normal reason that he could use.

Instead he just walks up the stairs and knocks on what he supposes is a door. It’s really just an oversized metal thing with no lock or anything. 

As the sheriff son, Stiles knows how little real danger there is in Beacon Hills, he’s still giving Derek a talk about getting a proper door that can be locked.

Said door opens suddenly startling him out his thoughts.

“Oh, hey Stiles” it’s Isaac. Stiles knew Isaac lives with Derek, it really shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, the guys are like brothers for fuck’s sake. “Did you need anything?”

Oh, right, Isaac.

“Actually, I was looking for your brother” Stiles has a small second to thank someone or something for Isaac being absent that afternoon to presence his and Jackson’s exchange. 

“Oh” and there’s that stupid knowing smirk again, maybe it’s something everyone around Derek knows how to do “sure, I was just on my way out to the store anyways” he winks before walking out and leaving Stiles on the threshold.

The loft is a lot nicer than the outside could give hints at, the walls are of beautiful bare brick and one of them is nothing but a window; somehow Stiles thinks it suits Derek.

“Hey Isaac” someone walks down the spiral staircase; Derek walks down the spiral staircase. His feet, bare feet, are visible before the rest of his body is visible. He stops at the bottom as he takes on the boy standing there. “What are you doing here?” he says. Which, rude, Stiles just wanted to share his news.

“Er” Stiles says, because really, his brain has maybe short-circuited; Derek’s hair is wet as if he just took a shower, and he’s wearing a soft looking shirt and sweats. And everything in him just screams of domesticity and softness and suddenly Stiles wants that Derek too, he wants to be part of it too. Not just the power and controlled Derek he knows from ballet or the quiet Derek he knows from their Wednesdays.

Stiles wants Derek, every Derek, everything about Derek. And that’s a scary thought.

Stiles doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t know how to do them.

Nobody has ever wanted more than a quick tumble between sheets with him.

“So” Stiles says when the silence has finally become too uncomfortable even for Derek standards, plus he figures he’s kinda staring at the man “I just wanted to tell you that I managed to do a perfect turnout. That’s it, ok, bye”

He turns to leave and has his hand halfway to the door. “Stiles” Derek calls.

Stiles savors every time Derek says his name; sometimes with contempt, sometimes with a hint of wonder and then, in that moment, with a little fondness and maybe something else Stiles doesn’t want to decipher.

“Hey” Derek is behind him, his fingers circling Stiles’ wrist and pulling him back inside; he directs them into a studio at the far end of a narrow hallway “show me” he says.

Stiles heaves a sigh, it’s different with Derek there. It’s different without his music and his known floors under his feet. But he gets himself into position, ready. And starts.

The first two attempts go badly and Stiles is starting to feel frustrated. He’s huffing in annoyance and considering just leaving with the small portion of dignity he can still maintain. 

“Hey” Derek calls him, his voice is surprisingly soft and Stiles wonders how long they have been in there “it’s ok, it takes a lot of practice to get it right every time”

Stiles is forced to look up, he’s embarrassed that on top of his failure Derek is also trying to make him feel better about it. It really isn’t fair how much Stiles likes him.

“Just one more time” he says “let me try one more time”

Derek nods and steps away.

And Stiles breathes, calming himself, remembering why he loves to dance; he feels the wood under his feet and Derek’s soothing teaching behind his eyelids. And then he moves, and moves and moves.

Someone is clapping when he opens his eyes, there, in the mirror is the perfect turnout from that afternoon; along with a smile even brighter. He looks up and Derek is smiling at him, his two front teeth are larger than the rest and Stiles wants to laugh at how adorable he finds it. Instead he moves from where he is, he’s running in adrenaline and excitement, without his conscious permission his arms weave themselves around Derek’s neck and his lips attach to Derek’s.

It takes him all but half a second to realize what he just did, and how Derek is just standing there, not kissing back. He starts to remove his arms, a half-formed apology already rolling of his tongue, when he’s snatched back against the hard surface that is Derek’s chest; lips were then moving against his and he only had time to make a surprised noise before his brain caught up and he starts kissing back.

His hands feel the permission to run through Derek’s hair, so they do, rearranging it and messing it in the surprising softness that it is. He feels breathless for more reasons than the kiss when they finally draw away. Not really away, just separating their mouths to put their foreheads together.

“Oh” Stiles breathes

“Yeah” Derek smiles “oh”

“Ugh, just shut up and kiss me again” and Derek does

The company is getting such a good donation that year.

“I see you’ve gotten your heads out of your asses” someone laughs, a shutter goes off and Derek groans in annoyance. Stiles merely flips Isaac off before diving into kissing Derek again.

Isaac just laughs again and his steps down the hallway echo into the studio as Derek kisses Stiles again. It’s everything and nothing like Stiles imagined kissing Derek would be; it’s soft and almost asking for permission, while at the same time demanding and powerful; with their tongues exploring each other in the desperation of two people that have waited for that kiss for a long time.

“Wait, wait” Stiles pants after their millionth uncounted kiss “we need to stop and I have to go home before I pop a boner” he says after Derek’s face falls minutely.

Derek barks a laugh and nods, pressing a peck to Stiles’ lips before letting go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Stiles says, pecks Derek again (because if anyone expects him to get used to kissing Derek Hale, then they’re sadly mistaken) and runs out of the studio and the loft before Derek’s face can convince him to stay and spread himself on the man’s bed to offer his body for him to use and keep.

He fishes his phone to find a bunch of texts. Apparently Isaac thought it’d be funny to send that photo to everyone in their friendship group. Even to Laura. Laura, who is Derek’s big sister and Stile’s boss.

Stiles needs new friends.

“Ugh” Stile moans “damn it Isaac”

He’s still smiling as he gets down on his place; if it wasn’t for how tired he feels after dancing so much, Stiles is sure he wouldn’t have slept that night.

“Hey Stiles” Erica smirks and winks at him the next morning.

In fact, everyone he considers his friends smirks at him and congratulate him at some point during the day. Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t want anything to do with Isaac and his cherub face anymore.

At least Jackson looks slightly put off. Small victories, small victories.

Small victories until he sees Derek and his smile melts into what probably is the most ridiculous smile anyone has ever had. “Hey” he says.

“Hey” Derek smiles softly; his fingers twining with Stiles to pull him forward and peck his lips in greeting. Stiles couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Not that he wants to.

“Nice catch Stiles”

“La-Laura, hey, hi, hey, hello there” Stiles splutters, he knew the woman knew, but it’s still a little intimidating facing his-er-boyfriend?-something’s older sister who just happens to be his boss.

“Oh please” she rolls her eyes at him “now you’re intimidated?”

Stiles just laughs. Awkwardly and intimidated, but he laughs.

“Just don’t hurt him, you break his heart I break your legs” she smiles, winks and leaves. There’s something wrong with the women in Stiles’ life.

“Me too, you know?” Stiles jumps in surprise at the voice behind him, that and the owner had pinched his ass.

“Erica” he exclaims in a very manly not-squeal, they had never been too close to begin with

“I said: me too, you know?” she smirks and suddenly Stiles feels very, very cold “you break his heart and I’ll break your arms”

She smiles toothily at him and turns to leave with a flick of her blonde curls.

“Really?” he yells at no one in particular “nobody’s gonna give Derek the ‘break his heart I break your something’ speech in my behalf?”

A couple of younger students look at him funnily as they walk around. He only waves because he has no real sense of public shame.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve already been lectured” once again, Stiles is startled; what is it with the people around him and scaring him?

“What?” he asks

Derek just purses his lips “Lydia and Jackson came to talk to me a while ago”

“Oh, sorry about that” no, he’s not really sorry; in fact, he might actually start liking Jackson again.

Derek squints his eyes at him, making it look like he’s studying Stiles. “I don’t think you’re sorry” he huffs.

“Yeah, you’re right” Stiles grins; it’s almost odd, incredibly odd how he expected things to be awkward and hard and weird between them, and instead it just flows; like dancing.

Except how it’s not, because this is Stiles, and there’s something…off with Derek.

Because for some reason Derek is a man built of walls; and Stiles doesn’t see them, or really pay attention to them, at first. But then they’re there, in Derek’s eyes or the cautious way in which he touches Stiles.

Like he’s expecting something bad to happen.

Like he’s a man not used to having nice things.

And Stiles wants to know and understand and just know Derek. Way beyond the amazing ballet dancer that made him choose that career or the man that helps him with the classical moves he can’t do perfect yet or even the man that kisses him between an argument and then refuses to pound into him because they need to dance the next day; yet pushes himself harder and faster whenever Stiles has him on his knees, his hard cock rubbing what he can reach inside Derek.

Stiles wants Derek to tell him everything.

Just like Stiles tells Derek about things. Things that don’t really matter (like how he actually likes wearing his blue leotard more than the black one) to things that actually formed him (like his dad being the Sheriff and drilling security measures into his brain)

“You know” Stiles says one day, they’re lounging in Derek’s loft; Isaac gone with Danny on some sort of date of whatever there is they do between them. Stiles is comfortable there, so comfortable, with Derek’s arm over his stomach and his head on Derek’s lap with the blind noise of the tv in the background. And it feels nice. “The first time I saw you dance I was six”

“Hmm” Stiles doesn’t even mind the little usage of words Derek has anymore, at least he doesn’t mind them that much 

“I was six and your family went and gave a small recital in my school” he smiles; he wants to keep on talking, but Derek is tense under him. “Hey, Derek, are you ok man?”

“What?” Derek looks as confused as him, as if the hard set of his stomach just happened without his consent.

“You’re all tense and stuff” Stiles explains, he’s sitting now, staring intently on Derek; trying, once more, to figure the man out.

“I” he clears his throat “I just don’t like talking about my family” he mumbles.

Stiles is an idiot, fuck, he’s a fucking idiot. Of course Derek wouldn’t want to talk about his family, his family that died on that fucking fire so many years before. “Sorry” he says “luckily for you, we’re talking about me right now” he grins and ignores the little anger and fire of wanting Derek to talk about his family with him. The tiny desire of Derek falling for him as hard as Stiles is gone on him. That one that makes him wish for Derek’s walls to be easily chipped and destroyed, or at least for a key to enter them with the other man’s permission.

Derek shoots him a withering look, but Stiles only smiles wider; until Derek huffs a laugh and brings him forward to kiss.

And it’s a wonder how that’s normal, how Stiles can just lean forward and kiss Derek silly whenever he wants; or how Derek can kiss Stiles to shut him up whenever he gets tired of Stiles rambling. Or even how they kiss their arguments away, because Derek is really bad with his words and he just puts every apology and feeling into his actions.

So Stiles just lets go, lets go and kisses Derek. Chaste and short and then filthy and deep. With their tongues intertwining and their hands roaming searching for skin.

“Bedroom” Stiles pants, his dick already hard and tenting the sweats he’s wearing. He grins into Derek’s lips when the man just grunts and stands, pulling Stiles by the hand.

It’s a bit of thrill, being able to bother Derek to the point where his vocabulary gets to the point of non-existence; seeing the outline of his hard cock through the clothe of his running shorts. The gooseboomps that erupt where Stiles hands and lips and fingertips travel.

They no longer have any finesse in undressing, rather just shredding their clothing items around, a pilled mess somewhere –everywhere- on Derek’s bedroom floor. Stiles laughs, happily, because he’s Stiles and he just laughs when he’s happy.

Derek doesn’t question it anymore, but looks like he may or may not question his life choices. Stiles takes that look away by biting one of the man’s nipple, eliciting a groan and then a moan when he laps at it with his tongue flat. They’re already on the bed, Stiles is sitting under Derek, while he kneels, a thick thigh on each side of Stiles’ body. They’re both licking pre-come and the room smells like sweat and heat already.

If there was a way to describe Derek’s dick, Stiles would call it pretty, or maybe handsome, or even rugged like the man it belongs too. With its head thick and read with blood, and the slight curve it gets when Derek is really turned on. Stiles moves forward to lick a stripe up the shaft, from Derek’s tight balls to the wet slit.

Relishing on the shudder the full body shudder that travels through Derek when he mouths the vein that snakes its way on the underside. Stiles loves sucking Derek’s cock, the heavy warmth of it on his tongue and the salty and slightly bitter taste of it; the musky smell of Derek when he manages to bury his nose on the thick hair at the base of it.

Derek groans and moans and Stiles knows he’s trying hard not to snap his hips and just fuck into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles knows the exact moment when Derek snaps, he knows it because Derek huffs a heavy breath through his mouth and his hands stop gripping his hair and move to his shoulders to push him down onto the mattress. He doesn’t really mind, in fact, it was almost a surprise how well he was with being manhandled into whatever position Derek wants.

Teeth close where his neck meets his shoulder, and this is something Stiles likes, the fact that Derek wants to mark him, wants people to know Stiles is his and taken and his. Derek keeps moving down his body, placing open mouth kisses down the expanse of Stiles’ neck and then his collarbones and his sternum, just to move and bite and suck his nipples until they’re hard pebbles of skin. Stiles is sure he’s flushed from his hairline to his toes, he really doesn’t care because Derek is also flushed and sweaty and panting.

Expert fingers circle around the base of his cock and Stiles can’t help the moan that escapes his throat or the way his body arches into the touch, seeking more. 

“Shh” Derek smirks, the fucking cocky asshole, as if Stiles didn’t already know how much the man thrives on Stiles being loud.

“You like it” Stiles pants “when I’m loud” and he should really get an award for being able to string more than one word together “but if you really want it” he shrugs, trying and most likely failing at nonchalance “I could be quiet”

He smirks when Derek only grunts something and then wet fingers are circling his asshole, plunging in without any form of doubt; sure of themselves and their knowledge of Stiles’ body.

It still burns a little, and Stiles is thankful for that small sting to ground him and pull him back. To not just come and stop feeling everything so intensely. Derek’s skin is smooth and slick with sweat when he finally pulls three fingers out and lines up, pushing in a slowly, agonizing pace. 

“Fuck” Stiles breaths, his legs are spread around Derek’s body and he brings them up to lock his ankles behind his back. Pulling for him to move until he can feel Derek’s balls rub against his ass.

Lube leaking down his crack and onto his lower back. “Just fucking move” he seethes.

And Derek does.

He moves, he moves and thrusts and Stiles scratches his back with the leverage he tries so hard to find; because he needs one, he needs some form of anchor before he looses completely to the man on him, in him.

Because the extent to which Derek has been ingrained in him goes beyond his dick inside Stiles’ ass.

The room is filled with the almost vulgar sound of flesh hitting flesh, the way Derek’s slicked dick slides in and out of his body and the heavy pants and deep moans Stiles no longer knows who’s making. Probably him, most likely the both of them.

He’s burning. It feels like that every time they have sex.

Like a fire has been lit in his chest and spread around until it’s consuming his body from the inside. 

His dick is trapped between their two bodies, rubbing against Derek’s stomach with every thrust, the friction is too little but the moment is too much.

Stiles comes with the familiar tightness in his belly and his toes curling, his heel digging into Derek’s back.

Three thrusts later Derek stills over him, spilling into him, or well, into the condom; Stiles would love the feeling of Derek’s come inside him, dripping from his hole right after, when he’s still loose and relaxed.

Derek moans from above him, well, guess his brain to mouth filter is even looser when he’s relaxed.

Derek chuckles at him.

Stiles only smiles dopily from where he’s already sleepy, back pressed to the mattress and limbs almost numb with satisfaction. He should probably feel a little bit more disgusting with himself, what with the come and sweat and saliva drying on his chest, but he’s really far too comfortable to move or think.

“You’re disgusting” Derek points out

Stiles only manages a half glare “yeah, yeah. It’s your fault anyways” he yawns

Derek only chuckles again and Stiles feels the deep of the bed giving when Derek gets up to throw away the condom and find the bathroom.

When he comes back, Stiles is halfway asleep, right on that place where he feels a little drunk with sleep. His eyes half lidded and his breathing slow. 

It’s so peaceful, such a nice mirage of the trust he has in Derek, and the trust he wishes Derek would have on him.

“I decided I wanted to dance that day” he says, Derek is rubbing a damp cloth down his abs and between his thighs, cleaning between his cheeks and getting rid of the remaining lube.

“What day?”

“The day I saw you dance” Stiles smiles “you were so beautiful, still are” he yawns, his eyes close of his own volition and falls asleep, just like that; missing the small, sad smile in Derek’s eyes.

The next week goes out in a blur of rehearsals and outfits and more rehearsals and spending time with his dad and finding time to listen to Scott go on and on about Allison and how awesome she is.

Stiles won’t say it but he also wants to talk about Derek.

But it somehow feels different than Scott’s relationship with Allison, the way it feels like he’d be breaking something if he goes and just talks about the things they do or the way Derek’s eyes seem painted by a different brush every day and on different lights. As if Derek isn’t still comfortable for him to go and just talk about them.

He doesn’t think Derek is ashamed of him, no, it’s not that; more that Derek just doesn’t really trust him completely.

And it hurts a little and pangs at his heart, but he doesn’t stop; Stiles is nothing but relentless and he’ll get there; he’ll get to the point where Derek can talk about his family with him.

“My mom was a pianist” Stiles says

“Yeah?” Derek asks, his hands are in Stiles hair, raking blunt nails on his scalp as they just laze on bed; it’s a Sunday and they can do it.

“Yeah” Stiles smiles, he loves his mom, he loves her in present tense because he never stopped and never will; even when she’s not on earth anymore “she was amazing” he beams

“I bet she was” Derek smiles softly, like he appreciates Stiles telling him about his mom but won’t tell him about his in exchange, at least not yet; like the smile is a promise for the future Stiles has fought for.

“You bet your nice ass buddy” 

Derek just rolls his eyes at that, his smile not wavering a little.

“She composed the piece I did for my audition”

“Your audition?” Derek furrows his eyebrows in confusion, Stiles has still not gotten used to how adorable he finds that “I thought you got an invitation”

“An invitation to audition” he says

Derek’s lips start tugging up and Stiles squints his eyes at him “You knew that” he says

“Yeah” Derek admits, he’s such a dork really, for all the broodiness and the stubble; he’s just a big dork that finds humorous the silliest situations “I saw your audition”

They’re a little bit drunk.

Ok, Scott is really drunk, but Scott is a fun drunk and Allison just keeps on beaming at him. It’s a little odd how it’s a Saturday night and Stiles isn’t on Derek’s bed or on his lap or behind his ass, but Laura took them all out and now they’re drunk.

Stiles is swaying to some upbeat song with Lydia while Jackson talks about something with Danny. Clubs aren’t really his thing, too many people are hitting on Derek and too little people are hitting on him; so he’s the only one getting jealous there.

The song changes and he can feel how dry his throat is so he screams some excuse to Lydia, who just waves a hand in dismissal, and makes his way to the bar. Laura and Derek are talking about something, probably ballet stuff, Laura has a big grin on her face and Derek just smiles indulgently at her.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks as he approaches, slinging an arm around Derek and sloppily kissing his cheek; just to grin when Derek shoots him a look.

Laura just smirks at them. “Alpha ballet just got an amazing donation” she says excitedly “from one Jackson Whittemore”

Stiles’ stomach drops a little when he remembers the bet and how he hopes Laura or Derek don’t know about it.

“Hey! Don’t worry so much” she laughs, a pinched expression on her face “he’s got more than enough to do it”

“Yeah” Stiles takes the out, feeling even worse about it “yeah, you’re right. Now, if you two excuse me, there’s a strawberry blonde waiting for me on the dance floor” he winks and tries his best to look normal walking back, Derek’s eyes bore into his back as he retreats to the safety of the mass of writhing bodies.

By midnight he’s too buzzed and tired and sweaty to pay attention to a drunken Scott talking to Derek. Way too gone to notice the fallen expression on the older dancer, and way too happy to see the hurt that flickers through his features as he looks at Stiles on his way out.

He doesn’t register anything until it’s four am and he tries looking for Derek to leave only for his brain to remind him that the man already left.

Without him.

That’s odd. So he calls, and reaches Derek’s voicemail; and because he’s Stiles he calls again and again; reaching voicemail three times before Derek calls back when he’s about to make a fourth –or fifth?- attempt.

“Dere-“ the words get cut from him

“I think we shouldn’t see each other anymore” there’s no inflection to Derek’s voice, just that gruff from before their pool nights.

“What?” he asks, because no way he’s getting dumped on the phone without any explanation

“Bye Stiles, please don’t call me again”

The beeping sound signals Derek hanging up. He stays there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk during the too early morning hours, just listening to that beeping sound of a disconnected call.

And then he’s just plain angry, not even broken hearted, he’s just fucking angry. If he thought or believed for a moment that Derek really didn’t want him back, then maybe he’d wallow a little in self-pity and a depressing show.

But the fucking rude asshole didn’t even give him an explanation, he just got fucking dumped over the fucking phone.

That’s just rude.

Plain rude.

If he was in any right state of mind, then he probably would’ve thought what a bad idea this is way before actually showing up in front of Derek’s loft, way before trying to open it to no avail (which is weird because he perfectly remembers the door not exactly having a lock. Oh no, as a Sheriff’s son he actually made Derek put one, damn him) before actually start knocking obnoxiously enough that the neighbors from upstairs and downstairs will probably hear him.

He just knocks and knocks for a good five minutes, his resolve slowly crumbling and his anger actually morphing into that self-deprecating indulgence of being wronged by someone he trusts.

Until Erica opens the door.

Erica is there. With Derek. At four in the morning.

And Stiles would actually think something of that is he hadn’t seen Erica flashing around an engagement ring from that guy that builds their sets, Boyd or something, he’s friends with Derek too.

“Er…” he says “Is Derek home?”

“Leave” she says, voice cool and freezing, there’s something feral in her eyes and Stiles is reminded of how scared of her he actually is.

“What?” he asks

“Leave him alone” she all but snarls before closing the door in his face

“Fine!” he yells at no one, Stiles can ignore a problem until it leaves too

Except maybe he doesn’t want to do that with Derek.

So he goes home and falls asleep out of too much alcohol, not because his mind would actually let him do it.

He tries finding Derek on Monday, and he does, he sees him; with Erica, or with Boyd or even with Isaac. Isaac, who keeps alternating between shooting hurt and angry looks at him. He just wishes he could just talk to Derek and know and understand what the actual fuck is going on.

Laura calls him to her office between his classes and rehearsals.

“You called me?” he asks, an easy smile on his lips as he enters.

“Sit down Stiles” she says, her voice feels as cool as Erica’s had on Saturday night, his eyes go frantic around her face; yet he finds nothing, her expression stoic and her eyes unforgiving with betrayal.

“Sooo” he says, because of course Stiles would get uncomfortable with silence first

“A bet Stiles?” she hisses “really?!”

“A what?” he asks, truly surprised by both the question and her tone

Laura sighs, ever suffering, “Saturday night” she explains “I was talking with Derek about the things we’d be able to do with Jackson’s nice donation” she says harshly.

Stiles can’t help it, he winces as everything clicks down.

“Turns out it was nothing but a bet for you to get into my brother’s pants” she ends

“No” he croaks

“Excuse me?” she still seems angry, but a little confused

“No” he says more firmly “I didn’t do it like that”

Laura just sighs again. “Yeah” she says, her voice still a bit more to the side of edgy rather than her usual tone “figured, have you seen your face when you’re with Derek?” she smiles a little, bittersweet and not happy at all.

It sickens Stiles a little bit.

“I mean” she says “have you seen Derek when he’s with you?” she’s almost wistful now and it really hits Stiles how much things might actually be broken and impossible to mend. A sense of hopelessness at losing someone good.

Someone who might even deserve better.

“You’ll need to talk to him” Laura’s voice is back to business, and Stiles knows he’s been dismissed; he doesn’t nod or acknowledge her statement, he just stands up and leaves, the wheels in his brain running and turning and not letting him breath.

It’s almost silly how affected he feels.

It’s almost stupid how it reminds of all those times he spent thinking Scott was an idiot putting so much effort into Allison. 

When he gets back to the studio, they’re in the middle of Derek and Allison’s ‘battle’. It’s odd, off, something doesn’t quite click.

Derek’s technique is perfect and every step he takes is sure and the way it was planned, but there’s something so controlled about him, something cold and acid and stiff and so not Derek. Stiles watches out of will.

Derek avoids him for the rest of the week.

Stiles is ready to give up.

But then he notices the dark bags under Derek’s eyes and the way his body looks tired and his dancing looks like it drowns him instead of bringing him to surface.

It makes Stiles nauseous to be the reason Derek doesn’t feel safe in dancing anymore.

It shouldn’t have surprised Stiles as much as it did that Scott, a drunken Scott, was the one to spill it. His friend is a terrible drunk but an awesome best friend. Stiles is still angry at him, although it really isn’t Scott’s fault.

If anything it should be his own fault for actually taking on Jackson’s bet.

He wonders if Laura returned the money. Knowing her, she didn’t and is going to use the crap out of it.

It makes him smile how much the ballet has become his family.

“Are you ok son?” dad asks one night

He shrugs noncommittally, it really fools no one.

“Son” the Sheriff insists

“Yeah” he finally sighs “just some stuff at the ballet” he smiles tightly at his father

“Derek stuff?” his dad asks and Stiles almost falls of the stool he’s been sitting on

“What?” he squeals “why would it have anything to do with Derek?” so subtle. And yeah, it’s not that he purposely hid it from his father, it’s just…it’s just he was, still is, so insecure about whatever he had (hopes still has) with Derek. How everything felt so new and fragile and the way Derek looked at him with fear and Stiles still doesn’t know how to reassure him.

“Son” dad sighs “there’s a reason I’m the sheriff” he says, fixing him with a look

“Yeah” Stiles relents “it’s Derek stuff. But, hey, are you ok with it?” he’s surprised at how well his father is taking it

“As long as you’re happy” dad says pointedly “if he’s hurt you…I have a gun”

Stiles barks a laugh, yeah, he loves his dad.

The thing is that it never is just dancing for him, or for Derek, it never was. Dancing began as something Derek did because his family was in that business and then turned into something he loved and then into somewhere he escaped into. So seeing him so trapped and suffocated in it, it turns Stiles insides, tightens his lungs and he feels like he could punch someone; except that someone should be him and he can’t appear with a black eye and say he punched himself out of desperation.

So he just waits it out.

After the opening night, he thinks; and thinks and thinks and repeats in his head until it becomes the mantra with which he sees Derek every day without the other man looking at him. At least Isaac has stopped looking mad or hurt with him, he still doesn’t talk to Stiles and now he looks at him with a bit of pity; that should be worse but it somehow reassures Stiles that he still hasn’t lost his chance.

The opening night seems so far away.

“For fuck’s sake Hale!” Finstock yells “get it together! What the fuck has been with you these days?!” it’s two weeks before they finally present and Derek’s dancing and focus have really not improved, if anything, they’ve only become more controlled and chocked and just uncomfortable.

Even Allison confessed to feeling a bit more tired and scared of dancing with Derek.

They’re dancing again, the corps just standing on the sides and looking, Derek and Allison doing an intricate choreography in parallel. An allegro building to their collision.

Soutenu en tournant, Stiles loves it, the way it burns his legs and makes his head almost dizzy with its rapidness.

There’s a crack.

Or maybe Stiles just imagined it to fill the sudden deafness around his ears.

There’s a crack and then Derek falls, a hand on his right ankle and a pained expression marring his face. Everyone runs to him, milling around him, yelling to call Laura or an ambulance or both.

He can’t move, only stare and hold his breath. He knows how hard injuries can be, he knows how Laura can’t dance anymore because of something on her knee’s cartilage.

And he can’t fathom a reality where people won’t get to see Derek dance.

In the end he doesn’t know who called Laura or paramedics because by the time he manages to tune in again, there’s Laura, yelling at everyone to just leave them; “Just please, leave the studio in order and we’ll let you know about anything!”

Everyone promptly leaves. Everyone but Stiles, who’s just rooted to his corner, looking at the stage where Allison and Laura and two strangers (the paramedics when he looks closer) are kneeling next to Derek.

He needs to get there too.

He needs to see that Derek is fine.

And he tries, he tries to walk forward but a hand wraps around his bicep and won’t let him move.

His head whips around, anger bubbling in him, his mouth ready to bite a remark at whoever had the indecency to stop him.

“I don’t think now’s the right time” Isaac shrugs, aiming for apologetic but only barely managing.

“Yeah” Stiles breathes, nods minutely and walks away. To where the rest of the crew has moved.

Stiles couldn’t tell how much time passes to save his life, it’s probably just minutes, minutes that feels like eons to him, without anyone telling them anything. Aside from him, nobody really seems on the border of a nervous breakdown.

Finally! He thinks, avoiding by too little jumping into Allison’s path and bombarding her for information.

“It’s ok” she smiles, a little sadly and nervous, but not deceptively “It’s ok, he sprained his ankle. He won’t be able to be here for opening night, or any other night” she frowns “but we’ll be able to pull this out!” she smiles broadly, that sincerity Stiles has come to trust there.

A sprain.

“Fuck” he breathes, just a fucking sprain and he was border on crazy on it; his whole body seems to deflate and is grateful for Isaac stepping next to him and grabbing his bicep again, otherwise he’d probably just fall with how week his knees feel.

“Derek’s such an idiot” Isaac says, there’s a small fond smile on his face but Stiles can see where he’s been biting on his bottom lip with worry.

“Yeah” Stiles agrees “yeah, he is”

And then he just starts laughing, laughing manically and gleefully and with the stupid relief that Derek only sprained his stupid ankle instead of a career threatening injury.

Fuck. He’s so fucking relieved.

It’s a weird feeling, not entirely unpleasant, to be so fucking concerned about someone else and their well-being. It’s a weird feeling, yeah, but maybe Stiles likes it a little bit more than he’d let on.

In the end they just call someone from a friend’s company to fill in. Stiles doesn’t even register the guy’s name.

The guy’s good, yes, he has perfect form and a great figure and awesome control and the right amount of wilderness to play a werewolf. But he’s not Derek, his body doesn’t seem as free and comfortable as Derek did; or maybe Stiles is just being biased.

Whatever.

He misses Derek.

He misses seeing him dance and practice and talk with his friends. He misses being with the man and talking to him and just him. Stiles misses Derek.

But time just flies by and rehearsals and classes take all of his time.

He barely scrapes a conversation or two with Isaac; Stiles reconsiders and decides he actually can take more of Isaac’s cherub face. Because Isaac is an angel that tells him how cranky Derek is at the loft not being able to dance or exercise or dance, just rest his stupid ankle and hope it heals for him to go to opening night.

“You should see his face” Isaac giggles, his own smirk hidden somewhere in Danny’s neck “he was so pissed at me because I actually can walk straight and do stuff” he laughs gleefully “he was all broody and with that frown” he tries imitating Derek but only ends laughing even harder.

They all burst into hysterical fits of laughter, even Jackson smirks a little, and Stiles; Stiles just wishes was actually allowed into that loft to see Derek himself.

“He asked me about you” Isaac tells him; it’s late already, there’s hardly anyone else left in the building.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, he…he” Isaac scratches the back of his head, the small stutter in his voice as if he’s asking himself about why and what he’s telling Stiles “I don’t think he’s angry at you, he’s just, you know, hurt”

Stiles sighs deeply, yeah, of course he knows “Yeah, I know”

Isaac considers him for a moment before sighing himself “No, you don’t. You don’t…you don’t understand”

And that’s how Isaac goes on a full explanation of how Derek has trust issues because of Kate, the Kate Argent that had been the “prima ballerina” (yes, Stiles knows that term isn’t used anymore. He still likes it, whatever) had seduced Derek and then decided that burning the whole company, with the Hales inside, was a perfectly good idea.

Stiles is horrified, nauseated and close to committing murder on someone he doesn’t personally know. “Don’t worry” Isaac assures him “someone already got there” and there’s a little creepy and satisfactory smile on his face that might or might not scare Stiles a little bit. 

“That’s why the Argents are so good to us” he goes on “Chris feels guilty and Allison loves to dance, she was close to her aunt” he grimaces “after she-Kate- died, Allison’s mom killed herself; turns out she couldn’t exactly handle the guilt of someone in her family causing so much pain”

Then Isaac proceeds on how a couple of years before now there was Jennifer, an English teacher, nice looking, sweet as can be and nice; so fucking nice. Isaac had been creeped out by her.

After a few months they found she had been stealing money from Derek’s bank account and transferring it into one of hers. Then how she was using that money to lure and torture and kill people in the woods. She was sent to jail for the rest of her life and Laura made Derek get a restraining order against the woman.

And there went Derek’s trust in people and their intentions towards him.

“So, yeah, he’s hurt. You need to talk to him” Isaac says, eyes locked onto Stiles’ “I’m on Derek duty tomorrow night, might be persuaded to leave him alone in the loft for a couple of hours” he smirks a little and attempts to leave.

“Wait” Stiles grabs one of Isaac’s arms to hold him back.

Isaac only raises one eyebrow in question and Stiles is suddenly hit with how familiar Derek and Isaac are with each other.

“Why are you helping me? I hurt your brother” Stiles says and hopes the desperation for reassurance in whatever Derek might have felt, or could still feel or even start feeling for all Stiles cares, doesn’t show too much.

From Isaac’s pleased smile he fails completely. “You” he clears his throat “you’re good for him. When he was with you he was happy, it almost felt like his walls could crumble away, like he’d let you in”

“Oh”

“You know Stiles” Isaac sits down again “Derek was there for your audition”

“Yeah, I know he was there”

“Shh let me continue. Anyways! He was there and he saw you dance and you saw him see you. But you didn’t see him afterwards. It was…it was weird” Isaac nods, and that’s definitely not what Stiles was expecting “hey” Isaac laughs “I’m not done yet, don’t feel so disappointed yet”

“I wasn’t…”

“Yeah, you were. Well, it was weird, but good weird. Like seeing you dance had given him a sort of new vigor to dance himself, maybe a new perspective. His movements became freer and he started looking like he was enjoying dancing back again, like when aunt Talia and the others lived” 

“I…”

“You should talk to him” and then Isaac does leave

Stiles wishes he wouldn’t. Leave, that is. Because his brain is a clusterfuck of guilt and anger and ill-mannered yelling. Mixed with the pleasant buzz of Derek being sort of weirded (good weirded) out because of seeing Stiles dance.

But he’s also grateful to Isaac, the kid had not only helped him understand but given him time to think over the mess he’d made for himself and the way to, hopefully, get out of it.

He can’t sleep that night and spends the next day being jittery and jumpy. Flailing around and almost knocking a couple of people in the face. Scott stares at him and Allison just smiles nervously. Lydia merely arches an eyebrow and Jackson snarls at him with more heat than necessary. He doesn’t tell any of them that he’s talking with Derek that night.

Mainly because he doesn’t know if he’ll have the guts to do it; or if Derek will kick him out as soon as he sees him; or if Erica will somehow smell him near Derek and rip him apart; or if, or if.

Too many or ifs.

So he stays quiet, too quiet, not at all himself. He tries to cover it up and ends up overcompensating with a too loud laugh or a pat on the shoulder that went on the side of too hard for it to be natural. Yet his friends don’t ask or question him about it. Stiles doesn’t really need new friends, he’s more than happy with the ones he’s got.

“Bilinksi!” Finstock yells for at least the third time in under an hour

“It’s Stilinski” Stiles snaps irritated, his head is not with him, his thoughts keep drifting to his conversation with Isaac and how he hopes Derek doesn’t kick him out before listening.

“I don’t care” Finstock spits out “you’re messing the whole group! Pull yourself together!”

“Yes sir” Stiles groans, he still gets yelled at five more times by the end of rehearsals.

“You better pull your shit together Stiles!” someone hisses from his right making yelp and jump about five feet from the ground; the voice owner, Laura, snickers at him before launching into serious/hissing mode “seriously Stiles! We’re starting with wardrobe rehearsals in two days, don’t fuck this up” with that she’s gone and Stiles is left possibly more nervous, and a lot more terrified, than before.

 

He’s sitting in his jeep, already parked in a visitor’s spot in Derek’s building when someone knock’s on his window making him, again, jump. “Shit” he mutters “Isaac”

“Hey Stiles” Isaac is positively snickering, fucking Isaac “You can go upstairs now” he winks and takes down to where a Toyota is parked next to Derek’s camaro.

“Ok” Stiles breathes “yeah, I can do this” he moves to open the door just to close it again “nope, no, no way in hell”

He goes through the same steps three more times before someone, Isaac, is yanking the door open and manhandling him upstairs until he’s inside the loft. Standing, just standing there like the creeper he is.

Thanks to the many nights he as spend there before; Stiles moves around the loft after a couple of calming breaths, albeit with less freedom than when he was actually wanted there, but with the same easiness of knowing the place. Going up the metal stairs and into the second floor.

“Last door to the right” he mutters to himself, and there’s the door, all dark wood and probably scary only to Stiles and his honest intentions.

But he knocks, he knocks because his parents actually taught him some manners, he knocks before he realizes that Derek might be sleeping and he might have just woken him up and put him in a bad mood.

“Great” he hisses, deciding to push the door slowly. He looks around the space he’s come to know, he can’t help it, and there are books (because Derek is a secret bookworm); tons and tons of books, Stiles wonders what kind of books they are, which ones has Derek read so much that age lines have appeared on their backs. Stiles maybe wants Derek to read them aloud to him sometime, they didn’t get to do that before.

“Stiles?” oh, Derek was awake, and Stiles just barged in his room and stared at his books like a creep. Great.

“Hey” he waves awkwardly. And he takes on Derek in his pajama pants and not wearing a shirt, splayed on his bed with a book cradled on his hands; Stiles is suddenly hit by the nostalgia of having been there and wanting to be there in the future at the same time.

“Stiles” Derek says again, a little harshness in his voice that makes Stiles wince “what are you doing here?”

“Er…borrowing a book?” no, Stiles, really?

Derek just raises his eyebrows in a show that he’s not impressed at all.

“Ok, ok” Stiles flails a little “I wanted to check on you and your ankle, and…maybe talk to you” he doesn’t look at Derek, doesn’t dare to even try and meet his eye.

“My ankle’s fine” Derek gruffs out “I can’t put pressure on it and it’ll take five weeks to heal. There, you know, now you can leave”

“We haven’t talked” Stiles points out, and yeah, he’s taking advantage of the fact that Derek can’t run away or hide or that Erica isn’t there, but Stiles needs to set things straight; if not for him then for the fact that Derek needs to know that he deserves to be loved and people actually care about him for things that aren’t money or ballet prestige.

“There’s nothing to talk about” he grits out

“Yes, there is” 

Derek fixes him with a glare, a glare that hasn’t really worked on Stiles since that day when he found Derek swimming in the pool. “Fine” he hisses “you wanna talk? Then talk!” his arms are crossed and his gaze is everywhere but on Stiles.

Yet Stiles settles for that because he likes Derek, he likes Derek so much like doesn’t cut it anymore. “Listen” he sighs “it’s true Jackson and I did a bet on me making a move on you”

Derek doesn’t look up and Stiles doesn’t ignore the hurt and betrayal that flicker through his eyes.

“BUT” and there go his hands, moving around with a mind of their own that Stiles really can’t be bothered to calm “but that was not the only reason I looked for you”

He looks for Derek and realizes that, though not looking at him, his eyes aren’t crossed and his jaw isn’t so tight anymore.

He’ll take what he can get.

“Ok” he sighs “this might sound weird” he squints “but I’ve had a crush on you since a while ago, like a while ago” he starts, probably since that day I saw you dance for the first time, he thinks but doesn’t say aloud. “A crush that apparently everyone and their mother knew about” 

Derek only raises his eyebrows, in a clear gesture to just go on and get over with it. And that makes Stiles angry, because yeah, he’s to blame but he’s trying to make things right and Derek wasn’t being easy; in fact, Stiles was sure Derek was being overly stubborn just for the sake of it.

Ok, Stiles could and can understand Derek’s trust issues and angsty-man-pain and all that shit he has to carry around; but Stiles is pounding on those walls, pounding and breaking his hands and bruising his knuckles in his attempts at breaking them, at getting inside.

And Derek is just making it so hard, so fucking hard. And even Stiles might get tired.

So he just sighs “listen, I’m sorry ok, I really am. I should have never fallen into that bet with Jackson, but we kind of have a history and that really is no excuse but…but that crush, it…it just got worse the more I knew you instead of just about you; and” he exhales again “and I think my friends were just trying to help me take a step to the front. Please Derek, I’m sorry and you deserve better than this but…but I really like you”

They just stay like that for a moment, or two moments. Tension almost crackling in the way their stares look for something on the other.

Stiles smiles sadly and turns to leave then, yeah, maybe a cheeseburger and curly fries could be forgiven that day, he’d even take a milkshake with him.

“Wait”

“What?” he turned so fast he might sprain something himself

Derek just sighed, a small almost tired smile on his face “I” he cleared his throat “I know you didn’t mean to use me or something like that. Jackson came to talk to me” he explains

“And then Scott and Allison and Danny and Isaac and even Laura” he exhales in a long suffering breath; Stiles can’t help but snort at that “no, it wasn’t funny” Derek glares “but, even without all of them telling me all that, I would’ve known”

“What?” Stiles is more confused then “how?”

Derek only smiles, a private turn up of his lips and a little light in his eyes “I’d just have known, I know you”

And that really is enough explanation.

“I” Derek frowns, pondering his words “I can’t, I don’t know if we can go back to the way we were before, but, but I’ll stop avoiding you”

Stiles ignores the pang of disappointment in favor of the huge burst in his chest “Avoiding me? You?” he asks in mock surprise, Derek just flips him off; Stiles laughs heartily.

“Ok”

“Ok”

“Are you coming to the opening night?”

“Probably”

“Ok”

“Goodnight Stiles”

“Goodnight Derek”

That really wasn’t that bad.

Stiles fist bumps the air after he’s closed Derek’s bedroom. He still gets his burger with curly fries and a milkshake, but they’re a celebration rather than a mourn.

The next day Isaac gives him a thumbs up and Laura smiles at him in a proud way.

A week later and he’s almost hyperventilating behind the close curtain, Peter’s voice as he makes a speech not even registering in his brain. That’s it, all the hard work of the past months resume into today, into the opening night’s presentation.

Everyone, even Allison and the guy, seem as nervous as him, it’s normal, really. It’s even healthy to not feel so sure of one’s ability to forget how lungs constrict with nerves and that tug of wanting to make it the best it can be.

What was it Finstock said? The bigger they are, the bigger they…are? Yeah, that doesn’t sound appropriate for that moment, or any moment really.

Stiles breaths; in and out, in and out; and there’s his cue, their cue. He flows outside, jumping and turning and skipping. Feeling the pull and burn of his muscles, along with the tightness in his lungs like a blessing.

It’s exhilarating, the feel of performing in front of a crowd; “Full house” Laura had said, voice proud and happy; Full house, Stiles thinks to himself as they spill to the side and change costumes in a frantic rush of hands and shoes and voices.

He wants to laugh.

And he does, he just waits until the curtain is down and the clapping is over. He laughs while he hugs Allison and congratulates the guy, he laughs while he pats Jackson’s shoulder and kisses Danny’s cheek, he even gets a hug from Isaac and Laura.

“Congratulations” someone presents him with a bouquet of roses and for a moment he thinks they’ve got the wrong person, adrenalin still thrumming through his veins.

“No, the guy is over there” he points where the guy, and seriously he should know his name by then, where the guy is chatting with Allison and Scott. Allison on Scott’s arm smiling her million watts smile, dimples and all.

“The guy?” whoever is holding the flowers ask, and then it registers that he knows that voice, has been fantasizing with that voice for a while actually.

“Derek?” he feels his smile spread before he can stop it, not that he would either way

“Congratulations” the man smiles and presents him with the roses, red and Stiles really want to roll his eyes at the cliché, except that he’s actually too happy to manage.

“Thanks” he grabs them and, not really caring, swings his arms around Derek’s neck and hugs him as hard as he can without choking him to death. Warmth expands down his body when he hears Derek’s hearty laugh on his ear and feels the vibrations of it where his chests are pressed together.

Time just stops when Derek puts him down, reaches out and suddenly there are lips on his. Warm lips, he remembers them, the maps of their wrinkles and the way the cupids bow would fit against his.

And he kisses back as the world grows silent around his ears, moving his hands to grasp something, to find an anchor in the sudden tilt the earth has taken.

“Hey” Derek smiles when they finally part

“Hey” Stiles says a little breathless “Hey” a smile tugs at his lips and lights his whole face

“Congratulations”

“Hmm, yeah” and then he’s kissing Derek again, because why not? He’s got permission now. So he kisses and kisses and opens his mouth and wills Derek to open his until Derek is snickering at him and pulling him into a hug to kiss his neck.

Stiles sighs because the word like stopped working for them a long time ago; he hopes, no, he kind of knows it’s the same for Derek.

Derek’s arms tighten around him, the man’s nose breathing him deep from his position on Stiles’ neck. It should be quite disgusting, Stiles is covered in sweat and make up and probably smells like, well, sweat. But Derek still breathes him deep. And then Stiles knows, he’s sure then that whatever like Derek felt for him has also evolved to more than that.

Maybe in a lesser degree than what Stiles feels, but they’ll get there.

“Not avoiding me anymore?” Stiles asks through a smile

“Oh” Derek stills and makes to pull away, frown in his face “that’s right”

“What?”

Derek smirks and Stiles just pushes him because that’s the kind of Derek he wants to elicit; he’ll want any and every Derek Hale, but he wants to make Derek happy, happy enough to pull silly pranks on him and be sarcastic and just a general little shit with.

“I’m glad” he whispers into the side of Derek’s face when he’s managed to put him into his arms again

“Yeah” Derek whispers back, a conversation only for them “me too”

Epilogue  
3 years later

“Dammit Derek!” Stiles yells from the kitchen, he just tripped on one of Derek’s running snickers “just don’t leave your damned shoes everywhere” he says when the man scowls at him.

A whole year.

They’ve been living together for a whole fucking year and somehow they were still not completely used to the other in their space. They bought a house together for fucks sake, yet everytime something like this happened and still happens, Stiles can’t help but wonder if maybe them being together is some sort of mistake.

It’s all in the little things after all, isn’t it?

Yet there are millions of other little and big things. Like the times Derek tells him about his parents and when he introduced Stiles to Cora on Skype as his boyfriend. Or the fact that Derek would rub Stiles calves after a particularly hard afternoon. Or maybe how Derek goes with him to visit his mom, how he actually introduced himself to Claudia and asked for her blessing. That was actually sweet and unexpected. 

Yeah, it’s all about the little things. Stiles smiles to himself.

“Are we still going to dinner?” Stiles asks some hours later, several hours later, he knows their tempers thanks.

Derek frowns as if the question is something silly and hadn’t even occurred to him “Yeah” he says a little hesitantly “unless you don’t want to”

“Of course I want to” Stiles rolls his eyes “don’t be an idiot, your smelly shoes around the house won’t stop this” he smirks and goes upstairs to shower.

It’s not really dinner, more like some sort of mix between lunch and dinner, when every restaurant and diner is lacking customers and overdoing in boredom; it’s early enough for the sun to still be up but late enough for the air to start to chill. Stiles doesn’t really know where Derek is taking him.

“Nothing fancy” Derek says “just dinner, don’t worry about it” and then he’d kissed the top of Stiles head

So he wears what he normally wears, jeans and a t-shirt; Derek said nothing fancy, it’ll be his own fault if Stiles ends up making him look like a fool.

“Really Derek?” Stiles asks when they’re finally sit, in a booth, at the local diner, having burgers and curly fries.

And ok, they are Stiles’ favorite, and he only ears them in rare occasions; but really, really.

“You don’t like it?” Derek asks, all stoic face; but no sir, because Stiles heard that timid tremor in his voice, that small part that still thinks he’s gonna fuck up and Stiles will somehow leave. As if.

As if.

Stiles sighs because his dependence for the man should really worry him more than it does.

He loves being dependant on Derek. On his Derek.

“No” he smiles indulgently, Derek has some ketchup smeared by his lips and Stiles can’t help but think how much of a teddy bear his boyfriend actually is “it’s perfect” he says and takes a bite of his burger just to be sure.

Derek orders ice cream.

Chocolate ice cream.

Stiles loves chocolate ice cream.

Derek hates it.

“What did you do?” Stiles asks with squinted eyes and a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. It’s good ice cream and he’s not going to waste it.

“Nothing” Derek shrugs as he takes a tiny, tiny spoonishly thing of dessert.

“Hmmmm oookay” Stiles nods but keeps on looking at Derek suspiciously.

They finish in silence and Stiles can’t quite place the squirming under his skin or the uneasiness Derek is causing him. It’s just…weird. Like he wants to say something but won’t.

Fuck.

Derek’s pregnant.

That’s it. Derek’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Stiles.

“I’m not pregnant” Derek hisses, shit, brain to mouth filter Stiles “Jesus Stiles! How does your brain even work?” but he’s smiling fondly while he says that, so it really can’t be something too bad.

Shit.

Maybe Stiles is pregnant.

Fuck, he’s pregnant and he didn’t know.

But how does Derek know?

“Stiles” Derek sighs long suffering

“What?!” Stiles asks affronted “it’s a possibility!”

“Stiles” Derek says, all patience with the understanding of someone explaining why one plus one is two to a first grader “Stiles, we’re both men; we can’t get pregnant”

“Oh” yeah, that makes sense “does that mean you don’t want to get pregnant with me?”

“What?” Derek asks, eyes wide like that stupid deer that managed to get caught by headlights

“What?”

“You want to have kids with me?” Derek asks a little breathless

“I mean” Stiles squirms under Derek’s haze “yeah, if you want to and such” he murmurs back

And Derek doesn’t answer, and Stiles worries he’s said the wrong thing and scared the guy away because he wants a family with him, but fuck it! He wants a family with Derek.

He wants a family with Derek.

Stiles looks up to find Derek staring at him, full of awe and wonder and just love, so much fucking love it’s almost scary.

It’s true what they say about hands being faster than eyes, because one moment Stiles is staring into Derek’s face and next he just feels a hand wrapping around his bicep and pulling him until he crashes against a solid chest, his mouth bitten in a searing kiss.

“I love you” Derek breathes into his mouth

“I love you too” Stiles snickers back

“No” Derek says “you don’t get it”

And then he’s pulling something from his pocket and Stiles breath catches because that can’t be what he thinks it is, and he should not feel that excited about it because he’s not a girl dammit! He’s a man, a manly man with manly feelings.

But fuck it! He hopes that little box is what he thinks it is because he wants it and he wants the future with Derek that his mind started to plan since that stupid opening night three years before.

“Stiles” Derek says, softly, like he’s scared Stiles might say no. Stiles laughs to himself, yeah, like Stiles would be the one to say no “Stiles, I want to…shit…I…fuck, this seemed easier in my head” Derek laughs “Stiles, marry me” and it sounds like a command and an order and all those things a marriage proposal shouldn’t really be in America the free, but Stiles doesn’t care; he doesn’t care because he knows Derek and he knows what that voice meant and what those words entail.

“Yes” he laughs disbelieving “yes, fucking yes!”

And he’s glad that Derek didn’t get down on a knee and did the whole corny number, because next thing he’s jumping on the man, arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“Yes”

They both laugh as Derek slips the platinum band on Stiles’ left hand, the cold metal mixing with his warm skin; he’ll never have a tan there again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and talk to me on Tumblr on sometimes-i-english.tumblr.com


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